11 Nice beginnings of badness and a sad ending

 11 Nice beginnings of badness and a sad ending

How could I have ended up in such circumstances? The story is very simple and probably hard to believe. About six years ago I had an accident (I write about all the details in my book), and as a result I was left without any support from the state. This led to me trying to commit suicide for the first time. Of course I failed, but then I spent almost a month in the psychiatric ward at the University Hospital in Kerry. The psychiatrist decided to prescribe me a relatively high dose of two different antidepressants and for two years while I was on them I was happier than I had ever been. High as hell, I don't remember much from this period, except that I was really happy. I felt as if there were very thick curtains separating me from the real world; It was like a crystal ball, cutting me off from any problems. I decided to tell another psychiatrist (doctors change more often than the weather in this country) that although I was happy, I didn't register anything and didn't remember much of what was going on around me. At the same time, my wonderful landlady (not being ironic this time, because this woman really did help me a lot in life) decided to sell my rented house in Kenmare town centre. Being legally drugged by a psychiatrist, I didn’t worry too much about it, because I thought finding somewhere else to live wouldn’t be too difficult. I never caused any trouble to the neighbours, and the locals had quite a positive opinion of me (I hope so – in 10 years of living in the town I’d been to the local pub maybe 3 times, 2 of which were for a company party). I even joined the local bridge club, where the elite of Kenmare spent their evenings, effectively preventing dementia (I was significantly underestimating the exceptionally high average age). I searched and looked, but unfortunately I couldn’t find anything within the notice period set by the landlord. Month by month I became more and more anxious, more and more panicked. My landlady voluntarily extended my notice by a year (quarter by quarter). She had also suggested that she would fill out all the necessary forms to get a rent supplement and had never raised the rent for several years; generally had always been there for me as best she could. But all things must come to an end and after more than a year of receiving the formal notice she told me that she really MUST sell the house to fulfil her plans. Having resigned myself to the fact that I would probably end up under a bridge I was admitted back to the psychiatric ward in Tralee after another suicidal episode. During that time, while under the care of a local mental health support center, I had contact with nurses and social workers. I heard assurances that in order to significantly increase my chances of obtaining social housing, I should seek the opinion of two doctors. So I did. I could not even dream on a loan: after two suicide attempts that ended with a hospital admition, at the age of fifty, on a disability allowance, I had no chance of obtaining a mortgage. However, I heard that: such a house or apartment was available for rent, I had been “nominated” for a house under the Saint Vincent de Paul program... Shortly: I had to wait and sooner or later everything would work out.

The situation was not improved by the war that broke out in the east and the sudden influx of refugees into Ireland. I went to the agencies, begged their owners, in desperation I even said that as a form of protest I would pitch a tent in the center of the town, in a park, with an information board. But none of my efforts worked. Again I wanted to end myself, but of course I did not succeed. This time, however, I injured myself quite effectively - I do not remember what happened and in what circumstances (loss of memory), but my whole face was covered in wounds, my nose was broken, and my spine was so badly damaged that I could not even lift my right arm, which became completely limp, and my left one partially. This time I did not end up in hospital; not in a psychiatric ward. After the accident (I waited 2 days, ashamed of what I had done) I went to EA in Tralee, they did an MRI, the doctor who examined me said it was too late to fix the broken nose, he just cleaned the wounds and said that if there were any problems I should contact them immediately. I think the time for action had passed early because the dizziness and vomiting characteristic of concussion slowly subsided. Apart from that I don't remember much before and after the accident. Then I got the final notice from my landlady and I really had to move out. Although I was just after the accident, completely helpless - making tea was a challenge for me because I couldn't handle the kettle - it was just too heavy; I decided that no matter what the circumstances I was going to move out. No matter where I was going I couldn't cause this wonderful woman any trouble. I gathered tablets for a few weeks and decided that as a last resort I would take them all at once and that would be the way out of this situation. However, it turned out that I didn't have to go to extremes. One of my friends told me that his friends whose garden he looks after were looking for a tenant. They had a part of a house with a separate entrance available - 2 bedrooms, kitchen, small lounge and bathroom. This option came up like a miracle, at the last minute - literally 4 days before I was due to move to nowhere. I couldn't have been happier - the house was 3.5 km from Kenmare but on the main road to Bantry. I no longer had a car, but that seemed like a minor detail. After the first meeting with the new landlady and acceptance, I started moving - not by myself, that was out of the question - I hired a friend who does professional removals and transport. When I moved in, I asked for a contract. I got no response to my text message. I asked a second time - same thing again. One day, shortly after, my landlady, who lived next door, came to me and said she wanted another rent in cash, to hand. (she got the first one in cash, together with the deposit). Since we hadn't discussed these details beforehand and I had just moved in, I told her that this option was out of the question and that she had to give me the account number to which I would transfer the rent each month - a total of 1,100 euros.

I quickly realized that what seemed like an act of God contributed to my ultimate downfall. I found myself in the same situation again: going to viewings, politeness at the highest level, until the obligatory question: what am I doing? When I said that I have a disability, the conversation either ended quickly or I was told outright: "No, I don't think so." Besides: who would enter into such an arrangement when there were hundreds of other potential tenants desperately looking for a place to live; the whole HAP thing; the potential problems of getting rid of such a person if there were any problems? Well, to be honest, with such a government policy, I don't blame the landlords; I probably would have done the same. My savings dwindled month by month (my benefits were not even enough to pay the rent, let alone other expenses). Trips to Poland: for rehabilitation and to visit my mother and terminally ill stepfather, did not improve the situation. The question that may arise is: why did this happen? How is it possible that I, of my own free will, caused such a situation? The answer is very simple: because I suffer from "severe depression", I took medication; after two years of euphoria and almost a state of mental asphyxiation; after my persistent requests, my medication was changed to one that caused endless migraines and dizziness. After about a year, my psychiatrists changed them again, to one that made me feel (and still feel) detached from reality; constant fatigue and general apathy. During subsequent visits to psychiatrists, one scene repeated itself, as in "Groundhog Day" - an open binder lies on the desk, the psychiatrist meticulously writes down what I say. And I have been repeating the same thing for at least a few years: "That I can't stand this uncertainty anymore; that I'm trying my best; that I'm going to view houses and the same thing is repeated when they ask me about my profession; that I've had enough because I'll soon be without money" and so on, and so forth. The doctor, a different one each time, repeated the same formula: "I'll increase the dose of your medication" – as if it were a panacea for my problems.

Another aspect is the issue of trust. I come from a culture where words have value and a verbal agreement is legally equivalent to a written one. When someone tells me: "Be patient, everything will be fine", "I nominated you for an apartment in Saint Vincent de Paul", "I will try to deal with your application for social housing", "To speed up the process, you need information from two doctors", "Something will be available soon, wait a while and be optimistic" - I take these words seriously. After all, they are spoken by officials, doctors or members of parliament. I assume that why would people deceive me? What would be their goal? Well, no. I understood that it is not about intentions, but about culture, way of being, tradition and customs. It is a pity that this knowledge reached me so late. Much too late. I should have taken my money and left a long time ago, started a new life somewhere else... but it is much too late for such an application. A sad answer to the question: "how did it happen?" is quite simple: the unreality caused by the antidepressants I was taking, combined with naivety, were the main causes of my downfall.

When I had only 3,000 euros left in my account - the amount necessary for a potential deposit and the first rent, I decided to move out - this time really nowhere - I had no other choice. I did not cause any trouble; I always paid my rent on time; I did not send any public officials or associations to my landlords, even though they were not nice people. I simply left. I had previously arranged for my belongings to be transported to a shop that was de facto a warehouse (without electricity or access to water) rented by one of my friends, and I left the apartment I had been renting for almost two years, with no savings and no hope for anything. And that was my mistake - it turned out that regardless of my history or health problems, I did not qualify for homeless status. Not by Irish standards. Without it, Kerry County Council was not able to help me in any way. The question is: how is this possible? So, before leaving the premises, I should have obtained the consent of Threshold - an organization representing tenants and, as it describes itself in the first sentence that pops up in Google, "preventing homelessness". How could I do that? By sending a "legal notice of termination of the lease" to this organization. So I asked with great interest: how can I send them a notice of something that I never received? But for the next few months, no one cared. So from December 2, for almost two months, I wandered around my friends' houses, sleeping on couches, sometimes in living rooms, sometimes in houses without heating. The only thing I did not experience during this time was sleeping on the street. The real nightmare began when a complicated investigation led by the "deciding officer" began. My only income was blocked and from one day to the next I was left without a roof over my head and money. At first, I was sure that it was some system error - maybe a matter of the beginning of the year and some confusion, maybe another cyberattack. But it was an investigation, an inspection that I didn't know about, because the address I gave was actually a warehouse that I didn't have and don't have access to. It's funny that, intoxicated with naivety, I tried for so long to obtain the status of a homeless person. All my friends around me ensured: this is not the worst situation; you are not in conflict with the law; you don't have any addictions; you were a good tenant - they will probably put you in some hotel, maybe a B&B, in the worst case in some single hostel room, like the Ukrainians. Be optimistic: the fact that you are formally homeless will significantly speed up your efforts to obtain social housing. Writing these words and stuck in my nightmarish reality, I can't believe how stupid I was, how naive. Welcome to the rotten reality of the second richest country... no, not in Europe! On this planet!